


Pet Therapy

by blackat_t7t



Category: Bones (TV)
Genre: Animal Play, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Non-sexual animal play, Puppy Play, Trust, unconventional therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-21
Updated: 2010-12-21
Packaged: 2019-08-02 19:36:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16311407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackat_t7t/pseuds/blackat_t7t
Summary: Sweets talks Booth into trying a new form of trust therapy.





	Pet Therapy

**Author's Note:**

> Imported from Livejournal on 10/15/2018
> 
> Original notes:  
> References to/minor spoilers for 3x03 Death in the Saddle (when they investigate a case related to pony play) and 4x04 The Finger in the Nest (when they investigate a murder related to a dog fighting ring). 

 

Booth wasn’t sure how he’d gotten into this mess, but he was fairly certain it was Sweets’ fault. It had started with Sweets suggesting some kind of role-play therapy -the sort of suggestion he and Bones usually ignored- but then Bones had gotten that glint in her eyes, and gone off with her Squint talk about Native American animal-dance rituals and modern BDSM subculture. And then before he’d even had time to think about what was going on, let alone object to it, he had been press-ganged into this- this- whatever this was!

Booth sat on the couch, arms crossed and scowl firmly in place, listening as Sweets explained what he was expected to do. “No way,” he said when Sweets finished. “Absolutely not. Let’s go, Bones.” He started to stand. 

“Wha- Why? I think it could be educational!” his partner protested. “It’s a great opportunity to learn more about the animal role-play subculture.”

“And,” Sweets chimed in, “an opportunity to explore the trust dynamic between you two.” 

“I’m not going to be like those horse-people, led around on a leash with a bit in my mouth!” He started to stand again. 

“Agent Booth, I assure you, there will be nothing sexual about this scene,” Sweets soothed, his hands held out palm-up to express his sincerity. “There need not be any training or control play either. All I ask is that you put on the collar, and try to act like a dog.” Booth glared at him, wishing more than anything that this topic had never come up. He knew, just knew, that between the two of them there was no way he could joke or deflect or complain his way out of this. 

Sweets seemed to sense his resolve weakening. “You know, I could just tell the FBI that you and Dr. Brennan aren’t cleared to work together until you’ve completed a series of trust exercises.”

And the kid went for the jugular! Booth grimaced and pretended to consider it for a moment, although he already knew there was no way out. 

“Okay, okay, I’ll do it. But only this once! And I’m _not_ wearing a collar!” 

“That’s fine, that’s fine. All I want you to do is try to act like a dog. Aside from that, we won’t do anything you’re uncomfortable with. Now,” Sweets clapped his hands. “Shall we begin?” 

“What do I need to do?” Booth asked wearily. 

“Just get down on the floor, and try to concentrate on being a dog.” 

Muttering under his breath, Booth knelt, and then dropped to his hands and knees. Eyes closed, he tried to think about being a dog- but other, more immediate concerns kept springing to the forefront of his mind. With his knees on the ground, his pants pulled uncomfortably on the fronts of his thighs and on his backside, and slack pooled at the backs of his knees. The floor was directly in front of his nose, and he’d have to crane his neck back pretty far to be able to see the faces of the people above him. He felt ridiculous.

‘Okay,’ he told himself. ‘A dog. You are a dog now. A dog, a dog, a dog…’ 

“When you feel ready,” Sweets’ calm voice invaded his thoughts, “open your eyes and we’ll start the scene.” 

He was as ready as he’d ever be. Booth opened his eyes and craned his neck to look up at them, waiting. 

“Dr. Brennan?” Sweets motioned to Booth with one hand. Bones stood up from the couch. She looked uncertain for a minute, then her expression hardened with resolve. 

“Good boy,” she said, and stepped towards him, hand extended. She stroked his hair lightly, then with more force. “Good dog.” 

Seconds ticked by. Bones continued to pet his hair, but Booth refused to move. He wasn’t going to participate in this any more than he had to. After a few moments Bones looked up as Sweets. “What do I do now?” 

“Just… treat him like a dog. Pet him. Play with him. Things like that.” 

Bones turned to him and hesitated for a moment before speaking firmly and confidently. “Sit!” 

It took a moment for him to process the command; he wasn’t used to hearing Bones speak with such a tone of authority. When he realized what she was saying, what she was ordering him to do, however, he felt anger and embarrassment flame within him. Sit? No, he wasn’t going to sit! He wasn’t a dog; he wasn’t going to take orders from someone who was supposed to be his partner, his equal. Booth was about to voice his objections when a hand pressed firmly downward on the base of his spine, accompanied by another strong “Sit!” 

Booth could feel the color rising in his face as his anger and indignity grew. He shifted and started to stand, mouth open to tell Bones to back off. Sweets hastily darted forward, putting his hand between Bones’ hand and Booth’s back without touching either of them. 

“Wait, wait, just calm down a little, both of you!” Bones took a step back, but Booth remained in a crouched, half-standing position, waiting to hear Sweets’ argument as to why he shouldn’t leave now. 

“Dr. Brennan,” Sweets began, his voice steady again. “You had a dog once, right? Or, a dog you wanted to adopt?” 

Her eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed in pain, and she looked away. “Ripley,” she said softly. “He was put down because he’d been in dog fights and attacked someone.” 

“Do you remember what it was like, playing with Ripley?” Sweets asked gently. “How the two of you interacted?” 

“Yes.” 

“Good. Try to do that now. Try to treat Agent Booth the same way you treated Ripley.” Bones took a deep breath and nodded, trying to compose herself. Booth glared at Sweets. The psychiatrist knew there was no way Booth could get up and leave after _that_ had been dredged up again. 

Bones approached him again, more tentatively this time. She reached out almost hesitantly and laid her hand on his head. “Good boy,” she whispered. Booth thought she was probably speaking more to Ripley than to him. 

Her hand began to stroke his hair, and Booth concentrated on trying to relax. His muscles were still tensed from the earlier outburst. He shifted into a more comfortable position, seated back on his haunches.

Bones’ hand began to scratch lightly at the short hair on the back of his neck. It felt odd, definitely, to be petted like a dog, but it also felt strangely good. Without thinking, he pressed into the touch, urging her to scratch harder. She complied, long fingernails scrapping gently at his scalp, then moving lower to his neck and shoulders, scratching places he hadn’t even realized were itchy until she’d started to rub him. It was a delicious feeling that drove all coherent thought from his mind. 

He arched his back into her touch, reveling in it. A soft groan bubbled up from his throat. Bones sank to the ground in front of the couch, sitting leaned against it with her legs stretched out before her, and he followed, lying across her lap. She continued to gently scratch and rub his head and back, her skilled fingers working the tension from his muscles. His eyes closed and he let out a contented sigh, tension slipping from his body as he did. 

 

He must have fallen asleep at some point, because the next thing Booth was aware of, he was lying on the floor, Bones’ hand still idly petting his hair. Sweets was seated on the ground as well, and he and Bones seemed deep in conversation. Booth didn’t spare a thought for what they were talking about, however; his attention was on the bright red stress ball that Sweets held in his hand. He wasn’t squeezing it, but simply rolling it in his hand, and Booth was mesmerized by the movement of the red sphere between long fingers. 

Then suddenly the ball slipped from his hand. It bounced once, twice, away from Booth, and without thinking he lifted himself on hands and knees and lunged after it. He didn’t even consider using his hands, simply leaned down and snapped it up between his teeth. He rolled it between his jaws, enjoying the scrabble of teeth on plastic, the slide of it against his tongue. It tasted faintly salty, like sweat, and his mouth watered around it. 

Bones made a noise of objection and tried to pull the ball from his mouth, but he shied away from her. This ball was his! He’d caught it; she couldn’t have it. Sweets put a hand on Bones’ arm to stop her from going after him, and the two settled back into place and continued talking. 

Booth rolled the ball between his teeth and tongue, enjoying the feel of it in his jaws. He bit down, punching holes in the outer layer of plastic. It sent a thrill of satisfaction through him, and he bit down again. He lay down on the carpet a couple feet away from them, enjoying the soft murmur of their voices and the feel of the plastic sphere in his mouth. 

After a few minutes, the ball began to lose its appeal. He stopped chewing and looked over at Bones and Sweets. They were talking, and seemed to be so engrossed in their conversation that they had forgotten him. That bothered him. He rose, letting the ball drop from his mouth, and moved over to them. 

He butted his head against Sweets’ shoulder, and the conversation immediately stopped. Sweets laughed and reached out to scratch him behind his ears. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you? You’re a good boy!” Booth pressed against his scratching fingers, enjoying the touch and the attention. 

A beeping noise made him jump, and he turned to the source. Bones rummaged through the pockets of the jacket he’d thrown across the couch. She found his cell phone, flipped it open, and held it to her ear. After a minute she closed it and stood, saying something to Sweets that Booth didn’t understand. Sweets also stood, and Booth craned his neck back to look up at them, head tilted to the side in confusion. 

“Agent Booth,” Sweets said gently, “you need to come back to us now.” Booth cocked his head to the other side and whined softly. “You need to let the dog go, Agent Booth. Go back to being human. You have a case to work on; Dr. Brennan needs you back.” 

A what? 

A case? They had a case? 

Booth blinked up at them, feeling strangely as though he’d just woken up from a dream. “Bones?” he asked uncertainly, pushing off of his hands to sit upright on the floor. “What’s going on?” 

Bones started to speak, probably to explain what she knew about the case, but Sweets cut her off with a hand on her arm. “How do you feel, Agent Booth?” he asked. 

How _did_ he feel? He felt like he couldn’t remember a lot of what had just happened, and not only because he’d been asleep for part of it. But with the confusion was a strange calm. For the first time since he’d joined the Rangers, the natural alertness that the constant threat of death had instilled in him was gone. The tenseness in his muscles, always prepared for fight or flight; the sharpness of his mind, always subconsciously going over little details for threat assessment; all of it was gone. His natural defense mechanisms had disappeared. It should have worried him, yet somehow it didn’t. 

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. 

“Does it hurt?” Bones asked. “You were lying on the floor for a long time. You know what that can do to your back.” 

“No, no.” Booth waved her concerned questions away. “It doesn’t hurt.” 

“Are you uncomfortable with what we did in our session today?” Sweets asked. 

Booth thought the question over. “Not… not _un_ comfortable,” he said finally. “But not really _comfortable_ , either.” 

“Do you think you can work this case now, or do you need some time to sort out your emotions?” 

“I’m fine,” Booth said with conviction. There was one thing he was certain of: he was going to work this case, and he was going to catch whoever was responsible. “I’m ready. Let’s go, Bones.” He hauled himself to his feet, suppressing a groan; she had been right about his back. 

The anthropologist gave him a strange look, but she handed him his jacket and cell phone and left the room without commenting. Booth gave Sweets one last, long look, trying to decide how he did feel about taking on the mindset of a dog, before tearing his eyes away and hurrying off after Bones.


End file.
